


Le Serpent qui Danse

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-29
Updated: 2003-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-01 09:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/354872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I am *not* a snake!"<br/>Written for Isilya's literary challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Le Serpent qui Danse

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Celli, beta extraordinaire, who managed to squeeze me in her hectic schedule _blow kisses to Celli_. 

## Le Serpent qui Danse

by Melo

<http://melo_l.livejournal.com>

* * *

* * *

My assignment was: "What qualities are most valuable in a pet?", word to use: Corrugate, taboo Word: said. 

The awful thing can be found  <A HREF="<http://www.catsplay.com/cheddar_cottage.php3>" target="_blank">here</A>. 

* * *

A te voir marcher en cadence,   
Belle d'abandon,   
On dirait un serpent qui danse,   
Au bout d'un baton.   
Les Fleurs du Mal, Charles Baudelaire, 1861 

* * *

"You know there are very good pet stores in Metropolis, right?" 

"Mmmm." 

That must be the most coherent answer he's gotten so far. It's incredible how focused Clark can get when he really wants something. Incredible how sexy he looks then as well.That's not something he's allowed to say, not something he usually allows himself to think even, but at times like this he just can't help himself. It's something about the way Clark's eyes don't blink, as if he were afraid of missing something by closing them. Something about his mind you can only guess at most of the time, but which is painfully obvious in his focus. 

He fell hard for Clark the first time he saw him concentrate. He'd always been able to dismiss it as a crush before, something harmless you could get for movie stars or pretty boys. But the mind behind the pretty face took him by surprise that day, and that's something he's never been able to forget: the glimpse of something more, of something deeper, of something that Clark hides even better than everything else. 

He indulges in it every chance he gets, which is why he's not insisting too hard on Metropolis right now. Sure, they could go, find something in a pet store where dog food costs more than a regular meal at Smallville's diner, then catch a movie or something. They'd probably have a good time too, but somehow he feels better here, sipping a good cognac and watching Clark concentrate on his search. 

There's something wrong about this whole thing, though. No one should be this focused when looking for pet stuff. Especially when the pet isn't even a proper one. Proper pets are cute. Cuddly. Playful. Proper pets people could go "Aww" about and talk to in silly languages, as if they were more likely to understand "nicy kitty kitty" than "you're a very cute cat." _This_ is just--not a pet. It's not cute. It's not cuddly. And it sure as hell isn't playful, well, except if you were a choking adept, but he's not sure this would understand the concept of safe words. 

_This_ is Chloe's new pet. A python. A huge green thing she named Charles, because Lex made the mistake of quoting Baudelaire one night at the Talon, back when she first mentioned her intention of getting a snake for a pet. Apparently she'd liked the idea of dancing snakes, and he has to admit Charles is better than Sneaky, which had been Pete's idea of a good pun. 

So he is now officially the happy godfather of a giant python named Charles. He wonders if that makes the snake a Luthor as well, and this very thought is enough to justify another drink. 

"I found it!" 

Well, maybe later. Because for all his musing about Clark's mind, there's still a pretty face to go with it, and he's never been able to resist Clark's grins anyway. There's something almost infectious about them, so you can't really help grinning back and he remembers how weird it felt the first time, to feel his mouth curve in a smile. It doesn't feel that weird anymore, and sometimes he wonders if that's a good sign. If maybe he should be worried about losing the edge, the ruthlessness that is part of what being a Luthor means. That's usually when he looks at Clark and decides he really doesn't care. Today's no exception. 

"It's perfect!" Has to get up to check, as Clark sounds just a little over-enthusiastic, the voice he only gets when he's just had a terrible idea that will require major damage control afterward. Besides, he knows Chloe well enough to know that if it's truly horrible Clark will get away with it, but _he_ will never live it down. He's not as gifted in the puppy-eyed pleading look department. 

And he expected anything, really, but it's -- awful. Worse than awful. That someone could even have the idea of designing such a thing is beyond his understanding, really. The Cheddar Kitty Cottage. In corrugated paper, nothing else. Includes 1 house, 1 roof, 1 dormer, 3 window panes, 1 piece of carpet. Open windows and skylights to allow for more fun and greater viewing pleasure. Viewing pleasure. He needs a drink. Now. 

"What do you think?" 

Clark's voice catches him on his way to the liquor cabinet, and apparently someone doesn't want him to be granted any more brandy today. 

"It's a Cheddar Kitty cottage, Clark." 

He hears a sigh and watches Clark move from the computer to the corner armchair. There's an ease in the way Clark settles on it that's a surprise, as if the armchair had been made only for him to sprawl, as if he owned it, and Lex finds himself wondering when exactly Clark lost his teen clumsiness. But Clark's never been clumsy here. Sitting on the couch, he wonders why he's never noticed this before. 

"Yes, I know that." Clark rolls his eyes, and this at least is so common, it's almost grounding. "But don't you think it'd be perfect for Chloe? It's just so kitsch, she could have her own spot on the Wall of Weird for that." 

"She got herself a python, we're not exactly talking kitty material here. Besides, it'd have to be glowing green to be granted a place on that wall." That's only stating the obvious, but he winces as soon as the comment leaves his mouth. They're not supposed to talk about meteor rocks. As they're not supposed to talk about Clark's savior complex. Implicit rules when dealing with Clark, but then he's not the one who mentioned the Wall of Weird. 

"I guess it'd have to, at that." Clark doesn't seem so at ease anymore, something Lex knows will pass when he realizes Lex isn't going to continue with this. "But I still think it'd be fun to see a big evil python in a cheddar cottage." 

"Clark, I won't have any godpet of mine in this thing. I mean it." This earns him a pout. He loves what pouting does to Clark's lips. 

"I thought you hated being Charles's godfather?" 

"Even I wouldn't wish this on that snake." Though there are some people... But he'll keep those thoughts for later. "Did you know that in India the snake is the symbol of the sleeping universe? There's even a town dedicated to his worship. You can't keep a symbol like that in a cottage." 

He'd go on, but Clark looks at his watch and there's something in his smile that can't be good. "2 minutes, 24 seconds. This has to be a new record for you, Lex." Yes, that's a smirk. 

"Record for...?" 

"For the lecture mode to kick in. You didn't last 10 seconds with Baudelaire last time." Clark's openly laughing now, but Lex doesn't have it in him to be vexed. 

"You should be happy I quoted Baudelaire. Seshanag would have been much worse as a name." And no, he is _not_ going to mention he had only gushed about Baudelaire because it was obvious in Chloe's eyes that she was going to do something with it, and that he'd been naive enough to think it'd be a Torch article. 

He finds himself laughing at that thought, and there's something comfortable, almost cozy in the way they laugh together, something he doesn't share with anyone else but Clark, and he thinks the same ease shows in Clark's sprawl. He likes this. Likes the warm feeling he gets just from being here with Clark, likes the way Clark beams at him when they share a laugh. Likes what shines through Clark's eyes now. 

"Anyway, I think you're right. It deserves better than a cottage." Which would sound like a reasonable statement but there's mischief written all over Clark's face, and it shouldn't be allowed for anyone to be that cute when about to say something stupid. 

"Really?" 

"Yep. A cottage is just too, you know, cliche. It doesn't fit the association rules. We should get it something bigger. Like a dungeon." 

"Association? A dungeon?" Suddenly he's happy he didn't make that comment about choking adepts out loud. 

"Well, we can't have two members of the bald association for improper housing having the same arrangements, right? So a dungeon'd be good." 

The bald association for... What the fuck? "You wouldn't be comparing me to that snake, would you, Clark?" 

"Well, you're both bald." 

"Clark..." 

"And you both stare at people a lot." 

"I don't..." 

"And you're both named after famous dead people." 

"I am _not_ a snake!" Oh, witty comeback, Lex. Lucky for you there's no more bugs in this office or someone at LuthorCorp would be rolling on the floor right now. Clark's still smirking and somehow this is even more unnerving, like he doesn't know what Lex is capable of when he's upset. Or maybe he does, but also knows that Lex would never engage in anything against him. And he'd be right. Doesn't mean he has to be so obvious about it. "Besides, my house is very proper, thank you." 

"So you don't have scales. And I bet Charles would look awful in purple. But a Scottish castle, Lex? Is very improper by Kansas standards." 

"I don't have..." Right, he needs to stop repeating everything Clark says. "Is this just to make fun of the bald guy, or have you been eating strange mushrooms again?" 

"I'm just saying there are some obvious similarities between you and that snake. You don't have to take this personally, you know." 

Not taking this personally. No, of course. Because being similar to something that's bald, green and eats mice for breakfast is always a good thing. "Seriously, Clark, we can't get that snake a dungeon. Or that awful cottage. It has to live in a specific environment, not something made of corrugated paper or fake stones." 

"Does it now?" 

"Well, a python needs water, proper soil, controlled temperature and shade. A place to hide during the day. Rodents to eat. It's a wild animal, Clark, it just can't live anywhere." 

"So what you're saying is that he's got to live in his ancestors' home?" He really should have seen this coming, but there's a full smile on Clark's face now, and Lex's breath suddenly catches. One of those side effects he's never been able to get rid of. 

"Hum, yes, that would be it. Some sort of artificial tropical forest arrangement." 

"Directly shipped from the tropical forest?" 

"Clark..." 

"And you'd have expertise as well. It'd help." 

This has to stop. Now. "I am _not_ shipping _anything_ from _any_ tropical forest. End of story." 

Oh, the pout again. Pout and lips, and it suddenly occurs to Lex that the way Clark is pouting, with his head lowered and just a flash of green peeking under his eyelashes, would be considered flirting in every part of the world. Except Smallville. 

The silence stretches but he won't give up. He won't. The pout gets poutier, and god how can he do that with his lips? But he won't. Won't won't won't. 

"You're just no fun." This is perfect. Show a little backbone and suddenly you're Mr. Spoilsport getting whined at by a pouting four-year-old. Time to put this conversation back on track. 

"I still wonder why she decided to get herself a python, though." 

"She thinks it's cute." Incredible how sulking suits Clark's face. But then, might be that everything suits Clark's face. Might be that Lex is very biased too. 

"Clark, three choices. Kittens, puppies, pythons. One of them is not cute. Wanna play odd man out?" 

"I think it's cute too." 

"I don't want to disappoint you but you pointed it out yourself. That thing is bald, green and it stares at people. It's not cute. It's not anything a pet should be by common standards." 

"So maybe I don't have "common standards," that's all." Clark sounds oddly serious, and Lex can just feel a Lana conversation ahead. Or Chloe since this week is Chloe's week. 

"Is this a weird way to tell me you have a thing for bald animals?" And this was meant to be light, to turn the conversation off from its dangerous let's-discuss-Clark's-lovelife-or-lack-thereof direction, but suddenly there's that tension in the air, as if he'd asked a forbidden question, and there's something in Clark's eyes that wasn't there before, like he's pondering what to answer, like he's facing a live or death dilemma. 

"Not animals, no." He--has not just heard that. Or maybe he has because Clark is looking at him with a strangely determined look on his face, all hesitations gone. 

"Lex, I..." Clark's voice is soft and there's a strange quality to it, that almost makes Lex wish his eyes were closed, wish for the airy quality a conversation gets then, when what you say won't have any consequences at all. 

Clark shifts and he can see the tension there. 

"Are you trying to tell me you might have a thing for bald guys?" The words are out before he can stop them. Maybe later when he thinks back on all this he'll understand how they went from cheddar cottages to bald guys, and maybe he'll scold himself for asking this, but right now he can't think of anything else to ask, can't think of anything more important to know. 

"You're the only bald guy I know, Lex." And Lex closes his eyes because this is too good, this can't be real. He hears footsteps on the carpet and knows Clark's up, can almost feel him getting closer, and there's a voice in his head telling him it's not good, it can't be good, that he should move, but he doesn't. He's not that strong. 

"I..." Clark's voice breaks, and he feels breath on his neck, hot like there was a marathon to run between the couch and the chair. Maybe there was at that: a distance Lex's not sure he could have covered himself. That's when he feels it. Feels Clark's lips on his neck, on his jaw, dry kisses the only point of contact between them, as if Clark were hovering over him somehow. Dry kisses on his forehead and he feels like laughing at the chastity of them, dry kisses on his eyelids and he feels like crying from the tenderness of them. Dry kisses everywhere and he wishes he could open his eyes to see, but he can't, he won't, wants to let Clark explore, wants to let himself feel, wants to revel in those kisses, his heart of the verge of explosion. 

Hands on his shoulders and he's being mapped, light fingertips trailing over his arms, silk bruised that sends shivers all over and makes him want to feel too. He raises his hands in a tentative attempt to touch, only to find them kissed away in a clear message that this is something Clark needs to do on his own. Can't help shuddering as the first buttons of his shirt give, as the shirt-tails slide over his skin and Clark's hands are just there, splayed open as if Clark is trying to cover as much skin as he could, And suddenly there's just too much emotion, too many feelings, his chest feels like it's going to explode and he has to give in, has to find a way to channel this, to convey this. He opens his eyes. 

Opens his eyes to find Clark looking at him, and he doesn't care if his castle isn't proper Kansas housing, because he's never been more thankful for the window panes in his library. Their light leaves patterns on Clark's skin, a play of changing shadows and colors, and there are no words to describe what he's seeing in Clark's eyes right now: so much warmth and feeling, thousands of questions and an underlying fear that Lex wants to disappear forever. Everything he's ever wished for summed up in one glance. 

He keeps his eyes open as Clark's face slowly lowers toward his, until his vision blurs, until all he can see is green.The first brush of Clark's lips over his is soft, so soft, a tentative kiss that leaves him gasping for air, and his hands tighten on the leather of the couch, struggling not to reach over. Clark's lips brush his again, a little more firmly this time, and he feels Clark sigh in a warm rush of air. Clark is mapping his lips in countless butterfly kisses that make Lex feel somehow worshiped, like Clark's suddenly found a new altar, a new religion even, and he's never wished to be God before but he could if this is what it feels like. Feels the tip of Clark's tongue on his scar and feels like crying again as Clark gets bolder and start to nip, tiny bites soothed with tongue, so simple, so right. 

Clark hands frame his face as his kisses get firmer, bolder, teeth worrying his upper lip and there's got to be a story behind Clark's fascination for this scar that he'll have to ask about later. Feels Clark's tongue probing his mouth open, feels it against his teeth and maybe it's too much, maybe it's messy, but it's the very best kiss he's ever received: tender and possessive and claiming in more ways than he thought possible. Lex can't resist that as his hands fly to crush Clark against him in a desperate embrace, a last proof that this is real, that this is true. That Clark is here. That he won't let go. 

Lex opens his eyes again and smiles at the sight of Clark, crushed against his chest in a position that must be anything but comfortable, and Lex thinks this might very well be the happiest moment of his life that he's living right now. Clark shifts and he unlocks his arms, trying not to sigh as Clark straightens up, but there's something deeply satisfying about stretching now that has everything to do with him being shirtless and the sole focus of Clark's stare. It's even better to let himself be rearranged on the couch. His body molds into Clark's, the fit perfect and just so right, like a craving answered he didn't even know he had. 

His head is resting in the hollow of Clark's shoulder and he lets his hand roam idly across the expanse of his chest. Silence surrounds them; he wonders who will be the first to break it, the first one to voice what's just happened. It's frightening in a way that nothing else is, because words can taint, because words can destroy, because there's no word to describe the perfection of this very moment. 

"You hit me with your car that day." And of all the words he's been expecting, these are _not_ part of the list. He finds himself nodding numbly, because there's nothing else to do, really, because Clark needs to say this, and maybe Lex needs to hear this too. 

"And I run fast. I see through things. I'm very strong and I can set fires with my eyes and sometimes..." 

"It's okay, Clark." Lex snuggles closer, letting his body language compensate for the lameness of his words. 

"What?" 

"It's okay, you don't need to do this." And as he straightens up to look into Clark's eyes, he's surprised to find that it's true. So simple, and he's never seen that before. Never seen the simplicity there could be in sharing someone else's secret when it's freely given. 

"I don't?" 

"You don't." He's doing his best to sound convincing, but Clark's still eying him incredulously, as if there was something obvious that Lex just didn't get. 

"So I don't need to tell you I'm not from around here?" Oh, that. 

"Clark, I know you've been adopted, but the meteor rocks were bound to affect you after a while even if you were not born here. In fact with the research I've made, I'm surprised new mutants only turn up every week. Hamilton made projections that indicate there should be far more..." 

"I'm an alien, Lex." 

Once he'd like to be able to finish a lecture. Just once. But maybe he'll wait another day. Yeah. Or more. See how much time his brain needs to come back from where it's run to hide. Wonders idly how long someone can survive without brains. 

"Okay." 

"Okay? Hello? Alien, Lex. Have you been listening?" 

So his boyfriend is an alien. He's a Luthor. Labels are so overrated these days. His brain is back and screaming about scientific nonsense, but he's not listening, won't be listening and he's never been so sure of anything in his whole life. "You're not green though." 

Clark's eyes squint as if he's trying to look at the inside of Lex's head. 

"No, I'm not green." Very reasonable tone, too, and Clark sounds like he's talking to a child, or maybe to someone who's been recently concussed and begins to show strange behavior. 

"Too bad. Or as a member of the green-skinned inhabitants of Kansas association, you'd have been granted a cheddar kitty cottage as a welcome present." 

The silence stretches and suddenly the tension breaks, laughter fills the room, and Clark's squeezing him so hard he knows he'll bruise but he doesn't care and Clark's laugh is the most beautiful sound he's ever heard. And maybe later there'll be words, promises even, but for now he doesn't need them, for now what shines through Clark's eyes is enough. For now he's happy just to be there in Clark's arms. He lets his hands convey that, lets his lips trace Clark's heartbeat along his neck and as he feels its rhythm quicken, feels Clark's breath catch, he spares a thought for the only snake in the whole state of Kansas to soon be granted its own little corner of tropical forest. Charles Luthor doesn't sound so bad a name anymore. 


End file.
